


All-American Thanksgiving

by feyandstrange



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Food, Holiday, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 00:02:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1760227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyandstrange/pseuds/feyandstrange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony makes the Avengers do Thanksgiving together in the first year after their formation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All-American Thanksgiving

“So what are we doing about Thanksgiving, guys?”

The Avengers stared at Iron Man. 

“You mean you aren’t gonna be on a Macy’s Day float?” Hawkeye asked. 

“That was last year,” Tony dismissed. “What can I say, I love a parade. And lots of attention. Earned a ton of money for some of my charities, too. No, this year I’m doing some three hundred dollar a plate thing that turns into money to feed homeless folks. So what are we doing, like, for us?”

“Didn’t you just finish telling us you’re doing a charity thing?” Steve Rogers replied. 

“So? We can celebrate on Friday. Unless you’re all going to the Black Friday sales or something. Can any of you cook? Yes? No?”

“I’m on duty,” Hawkeye declared. 

“So am I,” Romanov added, finishing her coffee. 

“That’s what you said about Thanksgiving,” Tony interrupted. “What about Friday? Or the weekend?”

“Yep.”

“Or are you just on duty to avoid me?”

“You’re manic because Pepper went to see her relatives, Tony, of course they’re avoiding you,” Banner said from the stove. 

“You mean I’m not manic when she _is_ here?”

“Less manic.”

“What are you cooking? Pasta? Can you cook a turkey? Hey, let’s fry a turkey with some gamma rays and lasers in the labs, come on, it’ll be fun,” Stark enthused. 

“But maybe not edible,” Banner replied as if this wasn’t necessarily a problem.

Hawkeye groaned quietly.

“Okay, look, I feel like having an all-American turkey party, and you’re all invited, damnit,” Stark said irritably. “We’ll do it Friday. If somebody wants to cook, fine. If not, I’ll call some caterers. Hang on, gotta take a call,” he said, and darted out of the kitchen. 

Rogers sighed. 

“I think _somebody_ figured out that some of us are gonna be here alone for Thanksgiving, and he feels bad about it,” Banner agreed from the stove. 

“Want me to arrange to get you duty?” Hawkeye offered. “I bet I can find a radioactive rock somewhere that needs analysis. Or some HYDRA goons to knock down.”

Rogers grimaced. “Knocking down HYDRA’s always a good distraction.”

Romanov made an irritated noise. “Ignore Hawkeye. He hates holidays. He hasn’t learned to take the day off and stop complaining.”

Hawkeye glared at her. 

“I was gonna hide in the lab, but with Tony here that doesn’t work so well,” Banner said, taking his pot off the stove and bringing it to the table. “Unless I distract him with some technology. Captain? You want company, or should we leave you alone to eat a dozen turkey sandwiches and watch the football?”

Rogers stared into his coffee cup as if looking into the past. “I don’t know. I mean, even before all this happened, I didn’t have much family. I used to go down to the Bowery and help cook, or wash dishes, so they could feed the hungry. But if I do that now it turns into a big publicity thing.”

“Which just makes it harder for the needy people to get dinner,” Banner sympathized, scooping ramen up to his mouth.

Rogers shrugged. “One year in the Army, my guys and I tried to catch and cook a chicken – there were some stray ones running around near our camp from an old farm that had been abandoned. We ended up eating rations and a couple of eggs we found, but we had a pretty good time trying to run down those birds.”

Romanov smiled a very little. “That’s an idea. Next year we will go camp somewhere and Hawkeye can shoot a turkey.”

“And then what? You gonna magically turn dead turkey into food? Because I know you can’t cook,” Hawkeye retorted. 

“I didn’t say we had to eat it.”

“You know what? I could kind of go for some turkey,” Rogers admitted. “I feel like a pig at restaurants when I’m eating twice as much as anybody else, so maybe I should embrace the gluttony part of Thanksgiving.” 

“Then let’s get a turkey,” Banner said with a smile. “And mashed potatoes. I bet I can make one of the robots do the mashing.”

“And pie,” Rogers decided. “There’s gotta be some pies. And a molded salad.”

“A molded what?”

“He means like Jell-O,” Hawkeye said to Romanov. “I think.”

“I’m gonna make a grocery list,” Rogers said. 

“Why not let Tony hire the caterers?” Hawkeye replied. 

Rogers frowned. “You won’t eat my cooking? I’m a pretty good cook. I was a bachelor for years. I know how to cook. You liked the deviled eggs I made.”

“I – yeah, but I think even Natasha could make a deviled egg,” Hawkeye retorted. 

Romanov shrugged. “No idea. What’s in it?”

“I’m just saying that making a whole Thanksgiving feast is a little more complicated than boiling some eggs,” Hawkeye said. 

Rogers cracked his knuckles. “I can do it. I did a few KP turns in the army, and a few short-order cook stints before that. I can roast a chicken, how much harder is a turkey?”

“But you don’t know how to use the digital oven yet,” Banner managed to say once he’d swallowed a lot of ramen. 

Rogers frowned a little. “That was last week. I’ve been reading the manual.”

“Let’s see if Tony’s already ordered the caterers first,” Banner suggested, slurping more ramen. 

“Can any of the rest of you cook? Or at least peel a potato?” Rogers asked. 

Romanova shook her head. “I can make coffee. And make a bomb in a microwave.”

“I could shoot a turkey,” Barton offered. “And field strip it. And… make a fire to roast it on.”

“Can’t be worse than Tony’s gamma-irradiated turkeys,” Banner mumbled into his ramen. 

“Banner,” Rogers said triumphantly. “I’ve seen you in the kitchen, you made those noodles just now. You can help.”

Hawkeye groaned. “Making ramen is not cooking.”

“I can actually cook a little,” Banner admitted, wiping his chin with a napkin. “Living alone and on the run means you learn to be self-sufficient and improvise. But I’m no gourmet chef.”

“No, you’re more of a biochemist,” Tony Stark said, coming back in. “Hey, can you make those weird gourmet molecular things? I had some at a restaurant and they were kinda slimy but good. So. We’re doing Thanksgiving?”

“I thought I might cook something,” Rogers said casually. 

Tony actually paused for a second. “You can cook? Wow, the super-soldier serum does things I never even imagined. Seriously, you can cook? You want to? Because if this is one of those things where you’re trying to be frugal with my money again, forget it.”

“You can buy the groceries,” Rogers replied. “But I kind of feel like cooking something.”

“Okay, groceries it is. Got a list?”

“Who gets to be the lucky person who has to go to the store right before Thanksgiving for a turkey?” Barton said dubiously. 

Natasha cracked her knuckles. “I can go.”

“You’d kill people.”

“I’d only hurt them a little.”

“Come on, guys, this is the twenty-first century and you’re in Stark Tower,” Stark said sarcastically. “It’s being delivered. Just tell me what ‘it’ is.”

“I’ll make a grocery list,” Rogers said decisively, picking up a pen and searching for paper. “Banner, will you give me a hand in here? And maybe we could order some pies from a bakery, I’m not much of a hand at pastry crust.”

Banner put the pot on the sink and sat back down with a datapad. “Just tell me your list, I’ll make the order. Pepper warned me that nobody else would know how to order anything but a pizza.”

“Hey, I ordered Chinese last week and Pepper only helped me a little bit,” Tony retorted mildly. 

“First, who’s in? I don’t want to waste food,” Rogers said, eyeing Hawkeye. 

“It’s not the Depression any more, Captain, it’s okay to have leftovers,” Tony said. “You’d just eat ‘em anyway.”

Rogers looked mildly daunted. “I need a cookbook. Wish I had Mom’s old Joy of Cooking still.”

Tony handed him another datapad. “Six digital versions right here.”

Rogers blinked. “Okay, these don’t have Grandma’s notes in the margins, but that’s probably for the best. So, who’s eating?”

“I’ll come,” Romanova said. “It sounds fun.”

“Where else would I be?” Banner said ruefully. 

“And I’m in. And you, but you eat like three, so remember to up the portion sizes,” Tony said. “And Clint.”

“Aw, come on. All right, fine,” Barton groaned. “But I’m not cooking.”

“Peeling potatoes is not cooking,” Romanov said. 

“Does that mean _you_ can do it?”

She cocked her head. “I could assassinate a potato.”

“If Army privates can peel potatoes, so can you,” Rogers replied. 

“Tony, think we can teach Dummy to peel potatoes?” Banner asked. 

Tony blinked. “Dummy can mash, Butterfingers can peel. Dummy’s not allowed to use sharp objects after that last time.”

“Now there’s some useful future technology,” Rogers commented from his cookbook. “Robots to peel potatoes for us.”

“Didn’t somebody invent a potato-peeling machine at one point? Or what about an enzyme bath to take the skin off?” Tony asked Banner. 

“I’m not eating anything they cook in the lab,” Barton said warily. 

“I’ll make a Waldorf salad to start,” Rogers decided. “And the biggest turkey in the store. I don’t care if I eat all the leftovers myself. Get us a fifteen-pounder!”

“I think we grow ‘em bigger now,” Clint offered. 

Rogers looked daunted. “How big? They still fit in the oven?”

“I dunno, is the oven bigger than you remembered?”

“One twenty-two pound turkey,” Banner said. “Next.”

“Well, stuffing. Do people still do oysters? I never really liked them much, but that was a big thing,” Rogers said. “And day-old bread, but the bread Tony buys lasts all week if I don’t eat it. Maybe if I make toast.”

“One loaf of bread, one bag of breadcrumbs, toasted,” Banner said. “What else?”

“Apples, raisins, onion, green pepper, and lots of chestnuts,” Rogers decided, eyeing his recipe pad. “Maybe two each of the fruits and vegetables if the turkey’s that big. And butter.”

“This is adorable,” Tony decided. “Captain America’s gonna cook us a Thanksgiving dinner. Can I send pictures to Pepper?”

“I may have to call her and ask about the oven, so why not,” Rogers agreed. “Don’t forget the pies.”

“All right, all right, I’ll make pies,” Barton said in a very put-upon fashion. “But only so I don’t have to eat the kind you get at Costco.”

“You bake?” Stark demanded. 

Romanova was snickering quietly. Barton nudged her. “Shut up. Or you don’t get pie.”

“Great! What ingredients do you need? Tell Banner,” Rogers said instantly. 

“What do we want? Pumpkin? Apple?” Barton asked. 

“Sure. One of each, if you don’t mind. I love a good apple pie,” Rogers said, eyeing his cookbook again. “Waldorf salad, hmm.”

“Which one is that exactly?” Stark asked, leaning over to read over Rogers’ shoulder. “Oh, one of the salads from back before we invented vegetables.”

Rogers frowned. “Celery’s a vegetable. Don’t people eat it any more?”

“I like Waldorf salad,” Romanova said reassuringly. 

Barton kicked her under the table. “Do you even know what’s in it?”

“Yes. Mayonnaise and nuts and fruit. It’s like a Russian salad. I like it,” she replied firmly. 

“Am I making old-fashioned food? Don’t people eat mayonnaise any more?” Rogers muttered worriedly. 

“Recipes go in and out of fashion all the time,” Barton said firmly. “If you’re doing all the cooking, make what you want to eat. That’s my rule.”

Romanova sat up. “Does that mean you’re making that nut pie? I like it too.”

“Pecan pie? Hell yes.”

“Pepper’s gonna be sorry she missed this,” Tony decided. “Especially pecan pie. Hey, do we have cranberry sauce?”

“I was looking at recipes for it,” Rogers said. “But now I can’t remember when cranberries are harvested. Didn’t they start putting cranberry sauce in cans?”

“I like the canned stuff, honestly,” Banner said. “But I’m a Philistine.”

Rogers sighed. “Wait, Pepper taught me that more fruits and vegetables are available year-round now. Should I get fresh cranberries and make sauce?”

“Make what you want, Cap,” Stark said, leaning on the sink. “Like Barton said, you’re the cook. And I might secretly like the canned stuff too.”

Rogers frowned. “Let me see what else needs cooking. Barton’s got dessert taken care of, it sounds like. Turkey and stuffing, salad, mashed potatoes, green beans, some squash – do people like squash? Or turnips?”

“Not really,” Banner admitted, to a chorus of agreement. 

“I like squash, but I know most people don’t,” Stark said. 

“Hey, there’s one thing I know how to make, and that’s curry,” Banner remembered. “I can make curry squash soup if folks want it.”

“I like curry,” Romanova agreed. 

“I’ll try it,” Rogers agreed. “Although the curry we had delivered last week was a little spicy for me.”

“I’ll make a spicy sauce on the side, people can add their own,” Banner decided. “That way I can have mine extra spicy and not kill people.”

“Hulk strength curry! This I gotta try,” Stark said. 

“Natasha regards explosives as condiments, so she’ll eat it,” Barton said, and got shoved. 

“And the Waldorf salad,” she said. “I can chop vegetables. I just don’t know what to do next.”

“Waldorf salad, right - wasn’t there a Monty Python episode about that?” Stark wondered.

“Nope.”

“Then why do I remember John Cleese going on about one?”

“It’s a FawltyTowers episode,” Banner replied, and got stared at. “What can I say, I watch a lot of all-night TV in this job.”

“And a perfection salad with the dinner, I think,” Rogers muttered. 

“What is it with your generation and salads that aren’t salads?” Tony joked. 

“Of course it’s a salad.”

“In Jell-O.”

“Don’t tease him, Stark, gelatin was new and fancy in his day,” Romanova said soothingly. 

“It makes a nice tidy salad,” Rogers said firmly. “Maybe that was the thing in my day, but we never ate big loose tossed salads like what Barton made the other night.”

“You ate it, though,” Barton observed. 

Rogers frowned. “And I liked it. I’m just saying it’s not what we ate in my day.”

Barton leaned back in his chair. “Come summertime we’re gonna have to have a barbecue and you can make potato salad. I like a good molded potato salad.”

Banner grimaced. “I see aspic and I think of petri dishes. But I’ll eat anything.”

“Well, I’ll make some more deviled eggs for starters, you liked those,” Steve Rogers said. 

Natasha stretched her arms. “So do I have to go liberate a turkey or what?”

  


**Avengers Year One Thanksgiving Menu ******

  


Starters, And Things We Ate While Cooking:

  


Crudites Romanov Chopped, with That Artichoke Dip Tony Ordered

Popcorn with Butter and Season Salt

Steve Rogers’ Deviled Eggs

Bakery Orange Almond Bread, purchased

(because Rogers Said Something About Brooklyn Orange Bread and Natasha Tried to Get Some; It Wasn’t What He Remembered But It’s Good Anyway)

Mandarin Oranges, Ditto

Wensleydale Cranberry Cheese That Tony Thought Was A Good Idea Because Cranberry

Crackers

  


Soup And Salad And Things Course:

Banner’s Curry Squash Soup 

(Curried butternut squash puree, made in a big crock pot in the lab so Banner could adjust the spicing; served with sour cream and homemade siracha on the side)

A big loaf of sourdough bread from the store

Steve Rogers’ Waldorf Salad:

(Chopped peeled apples and celery, chopped walnuts, homemade mayonnaise; chill for an hour, serve in scoops on an iceberg lettuce leaf with a sprig of parsley)

Those Stuffed Mushrooms Tony Likes, from Tony’s chef

  


Main Course:

Hulk-Sized Roast Turkey

Bread Crumb Stuffing with Chestnuts

(Purchased croutons plus some toast that Rogers made anyway, with chicken broth, roasted chestnuts, chopped apples, celery, onions, and peppers, and pepper and salt and parsley; some in the bird, some in a spare pan)

Turkey Pan Gravy with some more Chestnut Puree and Sherry 

Green Beans and Onions Baked in Sour Cream Sauce 

It Was Going To Be Yellow Corn With Pimentos, But Nobody Could Find Just Pimentos, and Barton Persuaded Rogers to Mix Yellow and White Corn With Bits Of Red Pepper Instead

Baked Carrots With Honey and Parsley

Mashed Potatoes Robot or ‘Romanova’ 

(with sour cream, and she stirred a lot)

Perfection Salad:

(<http://www.foodtimeline.org/perfection1944.pdf>)

(Rogers’ recipe scaled down to feed eight, and he used raspberry vinegar, but had to make it in a bowl because for some reason there were no nice ring molds in the supposedly fully stocked kitchen, but it looked pretty nice on its bed of lettuce anyway)

All-American Canned Cranberry Jelly

(with Marmalade Poured Over It, Because Steve Rogers Is Like That)

  


Dessert:

Aunt Barton’s Really Good Pecan Pie

Apple Pie

Pumpkin Spice Pie

Whipped Cream or A La Mode, or Both

Coffee

Saturday was quiet. 

Romanova had made herself a sort of sandwich out of leftover Waldorf Salad and mashed potatoes and was reading a pad. Barton had a training manual and was alternating between pecan pie and a turkey sandwich laced with leftover curry soup. 

Steve Rogers quietly and contentedly made himself several turkey sandwiches with mashed potato, gravy, stuffing, and even one with cranberry sauce, and put a glob of perfection salad on the plate beside them. 

Banner had sliced some leftover dark meat into a big coffee mug and poured soup and siracha over it, microwaved it, and was now reading and occasionally burping. 

Stark was flipping channels quietly, a turkey and leftover stuffed mushroom sandwich in his free hand. Rogers sat beside him on the sofa and chewed meditatively on his first sandwich. 

“Football’s just not the same sport any more,” he observed after a few minutes of a bowl game. 

Stark snorted. “Yeah, we invented helmets. And steroids. Try Australian football, that’s a real sport. Or rugby. This is just meatheads giving each other concussions. Nice pass though,” he admitted as a throw went up and wide. 

“I was always more of a baseball guy. Not that I could play either.”

“We should teach Thor to play football. The way he flings that hammer around, I bet he’d be a great quarterback. He’s got great aim with that thing. Whaddya think, Barton? Should we get Thor on a football team?”

“Is he eligible?” Barton asked wryly. 

“I have no idea. Maybe we should start a super league instead. The Hulk can be the defensive line. Have to be better than these guys,” Stark said dismissively, flicking away to another channel and muting a car ad. 

Rogers chewed meditatively. “I wouldn’t mind just throwing a ball around a little.”

“We could hit the basketball court,” Barton offered. 

“There’s a basketball court?”

“I had one built so Barton could perch on the backboard,” Stark replied. “I play a little ball from time to time, it’s good cardio. Did they have basketball yet in your day, Rogers?”

“We did,” Rogers said, “but if it’s anything like football then all the rules have changed.”

“No wonder you like baseball, it’s fossilized,” Barton grinned. 

“Then why did you have to explain the designated hitter rule to me?”

“I think you civilians could use a little exercise,” Romanova declared. 

“Says the lady who just ate how much mashed potatoes?”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t going,” she replied. “But I’m not the one who won’t fit into his armor if he keeps eating like that. Or drinking a thermos full of curry.”

Banner slurped guiltily. “I guess I could use a little exercise.”

“Yeah, Banner, just because you put all your muscular development into the other guy doesn’t mean you aren’t getting a gut there,” Stark replied. “And if I go play basketball with you yahoos I can skip the gym, and I’ve got a bet on with Rhodey about it. Come on, guys, go find some sneakers, Banner.”

Banner groaned. “Even food coma doesn’t stop him.”

“I’ll let you borrow a tranquilizer dart if you can make more baskets than me, how’s that,” Barton replied, bouncing up. “But no Hulking out, that’s cheating.”

“Don’t bet, he’s good,” Romanova replied. 

Steve Rogers had managed to polish off two more sandwiches while they talked about it. “I’ll just make sure the leftovers are all back in the fridge.”

Hawkeye belched. 


End file.
